<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Hate Like Sin by Lif61 (UltimateFandomTrash)</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26884258">Hate Like Sin</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateFandomTrash/pseuds/Lif61'>Lif61 (UltimateFandomTrash)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020 [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Broken Bones, Carrying, Claire Novak Whump, Day 7, Enemy to Caretaker, Gen, POV Claire Novak, Season/Series 10, Support, Whump, Whumptober 2020, i've got you</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:00:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,138</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26884258</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateFandomTrash/pseuds/Lif61</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Claire gets beaten for trying to hustle a man at a bar, and there is only one person she can think to call to help. But she hates him from down in her soul.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020 [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947223</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Hate Like Sin</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>
  <strong>Whumptober 2020</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>No 7. I'VE GOT YOU</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Support | Carrying | Enemy to Caretaker</strong>
</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Claire Novak — runaway, delinquent, a girl who knew far too much about the world around her — couldn’t decide which hurt worse: her broken leg with the bone jutting out, close to breaking the skin, or the absolute mind-numbing, throbbing pain in her pelvis.</p>
<p>Really, she was here because of a money issue. She’d tried to hustle a guy at a bar, and he’d caught on to it, and he’d beaten her. Her face was swollen and bruised, maybe a rib was cracked too, but the lower half of her body hurt far worse. He’d left her behind the bar, and Claire was in too much shock to even cry.</p>
<p>She didn’t know what to do, who to call. There wasn’t anyone at all that could help her.</p>
<p>Then it hit her.</p>
<p><em>No. No,</em> she told herself.</p>
<p>
  <em>I don’t want to. I can’t. Not him.</em>
</p>
<p>But god, she had to. Randy was dead, she wasn’t going back to whatever foster home or center social services wanted to put her in. And calling an ambulance was out of the question. She didn’t have the money for that, and she sure as hell didn’t want to be listed as someone without a home or parents because then social services would find her.</p>
<p>Claire tried to push herself up, even while knowing it was stupid, and pointless.</p>
<p>She cried out, and then, with the pain throbbing, she couldn’t stop her voice from leaving her in desperate, ugly sounds. Tears did run now, but she didn’t even notice them.</p>
<p>Claire lifted herself up with her hips, screaming through gritted teeth from the agony in her pelvis, and reached into her back pocket to grab her phone. With bleary, tear-filled eyes, she brought up Castiel’s number.</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck me.</em>
</p>
<p>The phone rang for barely a second before Castiel answered.</p>
<p>“Claire?”</p>
<p>“Castiel…” she sobbed. “H-he-elp.” For long seconds she just cried into the phone, hitching breaths hurting her injured rib, and the abdominal muscles tensing had pressure traveling down to her pelvis. Before she knew it she was screaming.</p>
<p>“Claire, I’ll come. I’ll find you,” he let her know, voice so assured while underlaid with panic. She could barely hear him. But it was unmistakably the voice of her father. Just lower. More commanding and angelic.</p>
<p>What a son of a bitch.</p>
<p>She nodded, though he couldn’t see her, and managed to get her screams down to a sob. Her lips trembled, and she murmured, begged with everything she had while hating herself for it, “<em>Please…</em>”</p>
<p>“Hold on, Claire. Hold on. Do you want me to stay on the phone with you?”</p>
<p>As an answer, Claire hung up.</p>
<p>No, no, she hadn’t wanted him to stay on the phone with her. She didn’t want to hear that awful voice, and picture that familiar face, and see him saying to her <em>I am not your father</em> over and over again. She couldn’t handle it. Couldn’t even handle knowing he’d possessed her for a time. God, she was so stupid! Why had she said yes? Now she seemed tethered to this dumbass. He wouldn’t leave her alone.</p>
<p>In her rage and pain, she couldn’t admit that it was a good thing that he was there to help.</p>
<p>He’d killed her father.</p>
<p>Claire just wanted to punch him at least once, and be left alone for the rest of her sorry life.</p>
<p>Time passed. Too much time. The sounds of the night closed in on her, making her cries seem too loud, letting her know just how vulnerable she was. She knew the darkness of men. That guy could come back at any time, and—</p>
<p>No, Claire didn’t want to think about it.</p>
<p>But she did. She thought of that man in her bedroom that had locked the door, how he’d ripped her clothes.</p>
<p>Castiel had said—</p>
<p>No, that wasn’t possible.</p>
<p>Randy wouldn’t have.</p>
<p>But now she’d never know because he’d been slaughtered by Dean Winchester.</p>
<p>Fuck him! Fuck both of them!</p>
<p>Her anguish and pain was all she could think about. The life she had as a child was as far away as the other side of the universe.</p>
<p>And Castiel was too far away.</p>
<p>She had no idea how long she lay there, desiring with everything to hurt Dean and Castiel, to make them permanently leave her life. And desiring for Castiel to help her.</p>
<p>Claire may have lost consciousness a few times.</p>
<p>The night closed in, the light behind the bar miniscule amidst the vast darkness of the cloud-covered sky. There were no stars. No moon. Just black. Shadows.</p>
<p>Someone was suddenly beside Claire. She panicked, not knowing what was going on. Screaming, she tried dragging herself away, an action that made pain shoot through her till her head spun and she couldn’t even see.</p>
<p>“Claire, it’s okay. It’s me.”</p>
<p>“C-Castiel?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>Now she could see him, could see the way the shadows painted the planes of his face.</p>
<p>“Heal me,” she begged. “P-Please, just <em>heal me</em>.”</p>
<p>Claire closed her eyes, exhausted, wondering how the hell she was still shaking. Wasn’t her body done? Didn’t it realize she couldn’t <em>take this anymore</em>?</p>
<p>“I can’t,” Castiel said.</p>
<p>Claire raised a hand, not sure why. To hold onto his arm, to pull him close and plead and sell herself to him again, to scratch his eyes out?</p>
<p>“<em>Why. Not?</em>”</p>
<p>“My Grace, it— No, it doesn’t matter. I need to get you to Sam and Dean. They can help.”</p>
<p>Castiel lifted Claire up, and she couldn’t stop screaming. Her nerves gave her brain the constant message of: <em>BODY BROKEN. PAIN. BODY BROKEN. PAIN. BODY BROKEN.</em></p>
<p>It was like an answering machine that wouldn’t shut up, a bad, ear-bleeding song that played on loop. Claire wished she could tell it to stop.</p>
<p>
  <em>PAIN. PAIN. <strong>PAIN.</strong></em>
</p>
<p>Castiel carried her, having forcibly looped her hands about his neck, so he could support her. Claire’s head lolled back, neck hurting slightly. But she was too tired to hold it up and huddle against his chest. And she was far too hurt by him to want to seem like she was okay with what he’d done.</p>
<p>Claire sobbed and whimpered, yet no more tears fell.</p>
<p>There weren’t any left to fall.</p>
<p>Oh, she was thirsty. She had to pee.</p>
<p>The thought of peeing was a nightmare, what with her pelvis murdering her.</p>
<p>Eventually, Claire was in Castiel’s car, stretched out in the back. He’d deemed it was a position that would hurt the least.</p>
<p>Claire wasn’t sure anything would make this not hurt as much.</p>
<p>Then, he drove.</p>
<p>He drove her to Sam and Dean. To help.</p>
<p>And when they got to the motel they were staying at, he carried her inside.</p>
<p>And she found help from the men she hated, the men a small, quiet, yet seductive, part of her wanted to kill.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>